The Insider

by Reece Hirsch

  Nikolai leaned forward, looking to close the deal. “So do you think this is something that your people would be interested in?”

  “Maybe,” Valter said. He reached across the table for Will’s glass of vodka and tossed it down. “But it would take some real money to make it worthwhile. I recommend this to Boka, and it is my ass on the line. And I have not done business with you before. No offense.”

  “None taken,” Nikolai said. “We want to work with you, so when we see opportunities, we bring them here. . . .”

  “If you take a chance on this, you won’t regret it. This is a sure thing,” Yuri said. Nikolai threw him a glance that, if they were not in Valter’s presence, Will felt certain would have been accompanied by his patented Shut the fuck up, Yuri.

  “I think I’m going to recommend that we put a little money in as a test,” Valter said. “If the vory like the idea, we’ll see how it does. If it works out, maybe we’ll go again.”

  “Thank you, Valter. We appreciate this.”

  “I hope that you do. If it turns out that your shit is fucked up, we all have a problem. But for you two, it would be much worse. Much worse.”

  Nikolai and Yuri nodded solemnly.

  “You said that if this goes well, you could do it again. I just want you to know that I don’t get involved with mergers of publicly traded companies very often,” Will said. “I don’t think I’d be of much use to you after this.”

  “I think you’d be surprised how helpful you can be,” Valter said. “Your firm is big, isn’t it?”

  “Yeah.”

  “They represent big companies, wealthy individuals, yes?”

  “Yes.”

  “Even if you are not working on a deal, someone else is. You can find out what is going on with your other publicly traded clients. With the individuals, maybe you might know something that we could use against them.”

  Maybe the pirozhki and the smoke-filled room had something to do with it, but Will suddenly felt queasy. He had an image of himself going from office to office at the firm late at night, digging through other attorneys’ trash cans and client files.

  “Stay close to this one for a while,” Valter said to Nikolai and Yuri. Will looked up to see Valter examining him. “It usually takes time for them to get used to what they have to do. It’s like a fish when you set the hook. At first he struggles, does things that make his situation worse. After a while, struggling stops.”

  “You think he might kill himself?” Yuri asked.

  “Maybe. Or worse.”

  Will considered what to them could be worse than killing himself. There were many things that probably fit into that category, he decided, such as talking to the FBI or the SEC.

  “Will, I want you to know that we don’t want something for nothing,” Valter said, adding a smile for his benefit. “If we make money, you’ll make money. Who knows? Soon you might be making as much from your dealings with us as you do from your law firm job. Not a bad sideline, huh?”

  Will declined to respond, staring at the table.

  “I mean it. Watch this one,” Valter said to Nikolai and Yuri. Then to Aashif, “So, Aashif, you are a good judge of character. What do you think of our friend Will? Do you think we can trust him to do what we ask?”

  Aashif, who was still staring at Will, responded, “Trust him? No. But he doesn’t seem like the sort to take his own life. And I suspect that he’s capable, if properly motivated.” Aashif had what sounded like a North London accent. Given the company that he was keeping, Will wondered if the serious young man was connected to a terrorist organization.

  Valter put his elbows on the table and leaned forward. “One more question, Will. Is there anything else that you know about Jupiter that might be of value to us?”

  “No, I don’t think so.”

  “No need to answer so fast. Jupiter is an encryption company. A copy of their encryption algorithm . . . wouldn’t that be valuable?”

  “I suppose so,” Will said, surprised that Valter knew enough to throw around a word like algorithm. “But it’s kept under tight security. I don’t have that level of access.”

  “Why don’t you think about how you might get access,” Valter said. “We will ask you again later.”

  Valter and Aashif rose from the booth. Nikolai and Yuri stood quickly to join them, shaking hands with Aashif and exchanging embraces and slaps on the back with Valter. As Valter and Aashif left the restaurant, the three old men in the dining room studied their plates.

  Instead of leaving by the front door, Valter entered a room at the rear of the restaurant. Before the door closed, Will saw lights filtered through a haze of cigarette smoke. Apparently, it wasn’t the kitchen staff that was smoking up the place after all.

  When the door swung shut behind Valter, Nikolai and Yuri beamed at each other. Yuri hollered for the waitress, “More vodka!”

  When the waitress brought the vodkas, her pinched face was further contorted by a scowl. Their little celebration was disrupting the dour atmosphere that the restaurant seemed to cultivate.

  “Who is Valter?” Will asked.

  “A true criminal,” Nikolai said. “An associate of Boka, who is the top vor in the mafiya here in San Francisco.”

  “Valter doesn’t sound like a Russian name.”

  “It is his klichki, his nickname. He is named after the Walther pistol.”

  “It also comes from a character from an old Soviet TV movie, Variant Omega,” Yuri added. “Valter was this bad-ass Gestapo, a real killer.”

  “I loved that movie,” Nikolai said warmly. “Must have come out around seventy-five. Takes me back to my childhood.”

  “Yeah,” Yuri said. Nikolai and Yuri were silent for a moment, contemplating the innocent days of their youth.

  Nikolai raised his glass and proposed a toast. “Vorovskoi mir.”

  Yuri followed. “Vorovskoi mir.” He nudged Will to down his vodka.

  Will didn’t need any encouragement. Maybe the shot would calm his nerves.

  “What was the toast?” he asked.

  “To the thieves’ world,” Nikolai replied. “Vorovskoi mir.”

  FOURTEEN

  The phone on Will’s desk was ringing, and the number on the Caller ID screen told him that it was Clive Shusett of Pearl Systems. Clive had no doubt prepared his response to the demands that Will had made in their last negotiating session.

  Will let the phone ring until voice mail picked up. He was still tired from his adventures the night before. After Nikolai and Yuri had finally allowed him to leave the restaurant, he had taken a cab back to Palo Alto to retrieve his car where he had been forced to leave it.

  From her desk outside, Maggie craned her neck to confirm that Will was in. He usually picked up his phone immediately, but Maggie knew better than to answer the call herself, which would have violated their protocol.

  Will listened to Clive’s message. “Will, this is Clive Shusett.” He could hear car horns in the background. Clive was probably calling from his cell in a taxi. “We’d like to schedule another meeting with you and David to go over the points you raised. I think we have a bit of room for discussion. I’d like to schedule a meeting on April twenty-fourth, either in Palo Alto or at your offices. That’s the one day that I can be in the Bay Area. I hope you appreciate that this is an accommodation.”

  The Jupiter deal was only a meeting or two away from being finalized, so a meeting with Clive Shusett did not fit with Will’s stalling tactics.

  Will dialed Clive’s office immediately because he knew from the cell phone static that he would not be there. “Clive, this is Will Connelly. I got your message, but I’m afraid the twenty-fourth is bad for me. I’ve got an all-day meeting scheduled. Do you have another date that we can try for? Let me know. Thanks.”

  Once again, Maggie peered into his office. She had access to Will’s schedule, so she knew his calendar was clear on the twenty-fourth.

  “Hi. I couldn’t help overhearing,” Maggi
e said, entering the office. “I show no appointments for you on the twenty-fourth. Just wanted to make sure that I had your calendar straight.”

  “You got me, Maggie. It’s called strategy.”

  “Okay. I just hate it when you start keeping your own calendar and not entering your appointments. It makes it so much harder for me to schedule things for you.”

  “I would never do that to you, Maggie. I live to make your life easier.”

  “If only it were so,” Maggie said, returning to her desk.

  Will hoped that he had assuaged Maggie’s curiosity. He did not want anyone getting the impression that he was delaying the closing of the Jupiter deal, especially Maggie, who frequently swapped gossip with the other secretaries in the corporate department.

  An electronic reminder popped up on his computer screen: “Partners’ meeting.” Will rose from his desk and headed for the main conference room to attend his first meeting of the San Francisco partners, a little curious as to what the view was going to be like from the other side of the great divide.

  When he reached the conference room, everyone was gathered around the table or serving themselves dim sum.

  Managing partner Don Rubinowski led the meetings. “All right, folks, we’d better get started,” he said. “The first order of business is welcoming our new partners.”

  A smattering of applause and lame kidding greeted the newcomers, as Will and the other four smiled dutifully.

  As the meeting progressed through an agenda that included the status of billings and collections and a lateral partner candidate, Will grew bored.

  Then Don’s voice went somber. It was probably the same tone he employed when advising a white-collar-crime client who was going to be trading in his pinstripes for an orange jumpsuit. “Now we have some more serious business to attend to. Claire Rowland.”

  Don recapped the situation for the newcomers. “Claire got mixed reviews last year. A handful of you identified problems in her work. Now we have another set of reviews in front of us, and it looks as if those problems have, if anything, worsened.”

  Don nodded at Richard Grogan. “Richard, would you like to say anything for the benefit of those who weren’t at the last meeting? You seem to have particular issues with Claire’s performance.”

  “It’s regrettable that Claire isn’t measuring up, but I don’t think we’re doing her or us any favors by keeping her on when it’s not working out,” Richard said.

  Apparently, the process was further along than Will had realized, because no one else was saying anything.

  Will saw that the other new partners were obviously fascinated by this discussion, but none of them were about to open their mouths. It seemed that Claire’s termination was a done deal, and Don wasn’t exactly inviting an open debate of the matter. Will turned his gaze to Sam Bowen, who was concentrating resolutely on his moo shu pork—he would be of no assistance.

  Will thought Claire had done a great job on due diligence for the Jupiter deal and other transactions. In his opinion, she was smart, creative, and responsible. He felt certain that there was nothing in her job performance that could possibly justify firing.

  Don droned toward a conclusion. “This is certainly an unfortunate situation, but Richard’s right, it’s better not to let these kinds of problems fester. Now, before we vote, does anyone have any final comments?”

  Will knew that it was in his best interests to just shut up and let the vote proceed. Nevertheless, he spoke up. “I was just wondering, who else has given Claire bad reviews? I had no idea that there were such serious concerns about her work. Frankly, she’s done a great job for me on my projects.”

  Three hands went up. Jay Spencer, Daria Finotti, and Jim Hugasian, all members of Richard’s deal team. Will instantly recognized the dynamic that was at work. Jay, Daria, and Jim would follow any lead set by Richard. From personal experience, Will knew that associates who worked with Richard were expected to become his fawning disciples, swearing allegiance to Richard and his transactions to the exclusion of all others. Those who did not, such as Will and, he suspected, Claire, did so at their peril. Although he had no evidence, he was certain that Claire was being fired because she was simply too independent-minded to kiss Richard’s ring.

  “Claire really dropped the ball on the due diligence for the Kamen deal,” Jay offered. “The work was sloppy, there were key issues that were missed. It nearly jeopardized our representation. The problems were substantial enough that I simply don’t think I could trust her to work on one of my projects again.”

  “I have a very different perspective on Claire’s work,” Will said.

  “Please, Will, go ahead,” said Don, clearly surprised to be hearing from him.

  “Claire’s currently heading up the due diligence team on the Jupiter deal, and I’d really hate to lose her. Her work has been excellent. I think it’s important that we have a tolerance for the learning curve. We have to allow young attorneys like Claire the room to make a few mistakes. I’m sure we’ve all had at least one project from hell as an associate, or a partner that you just didn’t click with.”

  Will waited for a moment to see if anyone else would rally to Claire’s defense, but no one spoke.

  “Thank you for your input,” Don said coolly. “But it appears that this was more than just a failure to ‘click,’ as you say, with a particular partner.”

  Scanning the conference room table, Will noted a few faint smiles beginning to appear. Unsurprisingly, Jay Spencer was already in full smirk.

  “In the absence of further comments, I think it’s time to call the vote,” Don said. “Who’s for termination?”

  Everyone around the table raised their hands, except Will. As a token of sensitivity, the hands did not shoot up like the class know-it-all. Rather, the hands went up slowly, reluctantly, rising barely above the shoulder, as if to signify, This hurts me as much as it hurts her.

  “Okay,” Don said. “I’ll meet with Claire to deliver the news, and we’ll put together a severance package. Looks like we’re adjourned.”

  As soon as the vote was cast, Richard was immersed in conversation with Jay, Daria, and Jim, already back to the day’s business. Will contemplated Richard and wondered, with genuine curiosity, how someone could do such damage to the life of another person without thinking twice. Will had once been on the receiving end of Richard’s sniping when he was a second-year associate, and the only thing that had saved him from Claire’s fate had been the support of Sam Bowen. Unfortunately, because Will was a new partner, his opinion did not carry the same weight as Sam’s when it came to swaying votes.

  Don stopped on his way out the door and put his hand on Will’s shoulder. “These decisions are always tough, but you have to start thinking like a partner now.”

  Will nodded, then waited for Don to remove his hand.

  Don studied him for a moment, then clapped him on the shoulder and walked away.

  Jay Spencer approached, smirk still firmly in place. “Will, I must say I was touched by the speech.” He tapped his fist to his chest. “Got me right here, buddy. Right here.”

  “You’re all heart,” he responded.

  “We’ve got to maintain our standards,” Jay said, heading for the door. “It’s what separates us from those PI lawyers who advertise on TV and the abogados on Mission Street.”

  Will hoped that he hadn’t just made an enemy of Richard Grogan. Did being a partner really provide him with immunity from Richard’s machinations? He knew that his new status provided some measure of protection, but he didn’t want to test its limits so soon.

  But perhaps Richard had been his enemy all along. Someone within the firm seemed to be involved with the Russians, and Richard was as good a candidate as any. As a chair of the corporate department, Richard was privy to what was happening in the Jupiter transaction. Will wondered if Richard might have already learned of Claire’s discovery of Jupiter’s NSA connection, and whether that had played a role in his deci
sion to have her fired.

  Will resolved that if it was Richard who had framed him for Ben’s death and brought the Russians into his life, then he would find a way to bring him down. Richard was not untouchable. But then again, neither was Will.

  FIFTEEN

  The first thing that Will noticed when he returned to his condo was the insistent red light of his answering machine flashing in the dark.

  “You have two new messages,” intoned the gender-neutral, synthesized voice.

  The first message was from Katya. “Hello, Will.” She pronounced it Weel. “Are you still mad at me? I hope not. I really did have fun that night, and I’d like to see you again. I’m free tonight if you are. You don’t have to trust me if you don’t want to. Just call me.”

  So now Will was getting booty calls from a Russian gangster’s moll. How his life had changed in the past four days.

  The second message was from Claire, left at ten thirty that night. “I guess you’ve heard the news by now. Actually, I suppose you must have been at the meeting where it was decided.” Her tone of voice wavered as she tried to apply a forced cheerfulness that wouldn’t stick. “You’re probably the last person I should be calling right now—but I’ve really enjoyed working with you—and I don’t really have anyone else to talk to about this tonight—and—I can’t get fired twice! And there’s something else that we really need to discuss. I’m going to have a drink at Lefty’s. Make that a couple. I’ll be over there by about eleven. If you can make it, that’s great. If you can’t, it’s no problem and I understand. I think I’d better stop now. Bye.”

  He had to go. Will knew from personal experience how devastating the loss of a job was for careerists like himself and Claire.

  When a Reynolds associate was fired, he or she was regarded during the notice period much like a zombie—dead, yet still inexplicably roaming the hallways in a Thorazine shuffle. In contrast, a departing partner was usually ejected from the offices in short order because he or she usually had clients that the firm was hoping to retain. The partners viewed a terminated associate as an unwelcome reminder to the other associates that although Reynolds Fincher might be a family, it was a family where love was not unconditional. For their part, the associates treated their soon-to-be-departed colleague with the cool sympathy usually reserved for someone who had contracted a disease brought about by a perceived moral weakness, like an alcoholic suffering from liver failure. They had to believe that it was a fate that could not befall them.